


Find Your Voice

by AddisonAddek



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-03-11 11:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13523076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddisonAddek/pseuds/AddisonAddek
Summary: Warning, mentions of rape. Darkness scares us. There comes a time in life when the control that keeps us sane slips through our fingers. Most of us will aim to seize it back. But what happens when all that vanishes in a blink of an eye? When Addison is faced with a traumatic event, will she find an escape from the dark or will she continue to live in the dark? AU. Post 2x12. #Addek





	1. Chapter 1

**Warning. Mentions of sexual assault. Warning. Read with caution.**

* * *

**Find Your Voice**

_**Chapter One** _

_ADDISON, DON'T!_

* * *

Her whole body is churning, head to toe and everywhere in between.  _Everywhere_. Her thoughts, her blood, her heart -  _oh, especially her heart_ \- are all racing. Her face is hot to the touch, her fingers clutching her hot buttered rum is cold as ice. Though her extremities are always just that - cold. Her mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert. She tries to swallow; it's sandpaper.  _God!_ Even her hair is freaking out of place and she knows the reason as to why. It's because she's here, in this god forsaken city.

A city that she dropped everything back in New York for just to be called Satan.

A city that's telling her that she've moved for no apparent reason now.

A city that clearly, with her lack of friends, doesn't want her.

A city that's as moist as the Amazon.

A city where she moved into a tin can because Derek said he'll give them a try.

_Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love._

Yes, it does and that's why she wishes she could spend it with her husband.

_Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love._

She has to read in between the lines to understand that one.

 _It's_  saying -  _no_ , it's a clear indication that he doesn't love her anymore and especially by the way he had looked at her.

It's not the same. It's not like before.

_Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love._

That used to be her - the people that he loves.

They're not looking at each other. They don't dare say a word to one another. But he's all she can see in her peripheral view.  _Hunched_   _back_.  _Hands folded together_.  _Jet black curls falling forward_. And she tries to pull away from him.  _But how can she when there's a distance of the Great Wall between them?_

She wants to though - to pull away, that is. Because maybe if he held onto her, cling onto her or try to stop her from escaping, that way she'll know he actually still cares about her feelings.

But he mustn't. He really mustn't because if he really actually still cared, he would have suppressed the urge to completely ruin Christmas for her forever since he knows just how much she loves this time of year and how much it means to her.  _He knows_. He freaking knows that.

He must still remember.

She knows he does.

He just doesn't care anymore.

They used to love Christmas. It was their holiday, not an explanation needed. Christmas was their's and only their's and everyone who knew them knows that.

_We love Christmas._

Nothing will ever be the same.

There's tension. There's heat. There's hate. There's silence. And there's a mountain of said and unsaid regrets between them.

He's right there. Just...right there, silent and not looking at her while she  _is_  looking at him. She's hoping that her gaze will encourage him to cast a glance her way. She doubts he ever will. She can only hope so. So, he could see the devastation his words has caused her.

Maybe that's why he's not willing to face her, because he knows. He knows that he've hurt her and he doesn't need the guilt right now.

But she's hurt.

He has hurt her.

But she hurt him first.

He's beside her. She can hear his long, dragged and tired sigh that is anything but. It's directed towards her. The fall and rise of his breathing is one that's unfamiliar to her now - maybe Meredith can decipher that one for her. He's sitting next to her with intentional space, looking into his scotch like it holds the fucking answers.

_Is he waiting for her to saying something?_

She wants to say something, anything really, but she doesn't. Only because her brain and lips aren't cooperating and she knows it's a painful mirage her broken parts have conjured up in an attempt to save her from herself.

She looks back down at the bar, needing to see something bold, solid, something real. She grabs her glass and downs it in one gulp. That much is certainly real.

 _I'm lonely, Derek_  - that was what she had said to him. She sounds pathetic, she's well aware of that phenomenon. Lately, it's all she is and sound.  _Pathetic_. It's just that he hasn't touched her in so long that she thinks she's forgotten how it feels to be loved by  _McDreamy_.

That is what the interns are calling her husband. Meredith included. It's inappropriate - to her, it is. He's an attending. But it only seems to fuel his ego.

_I'm lonely..._

She's so fucking lonely and she wants him to be her Derek again. She needs him to believe how sorry she is.  _Why can't she get that through to him anymore? Why don't he listen to her anymore? Why can't he believe her anymore? Why can't he love her like before?_ She is sorry. She wants him to want her. Again. Like before.

_Hurt._

But she hurt him first.  _Remember?_

When he speaks, she knows for certain that he's real - really real and had said all those ( _the truth_ ) to her - the voice that has visited her so often in her dreams unchanged by their time apart.

"Addie, it's Christmas."

She knows.

_Why is he saying that?_

But before she can stop herself, her brain is rushing headlong down a familiar path, playing a familiar game - that of trying to figure out if this distinction in nomenclature means something particular. Like that he's telling her to stay because he actually still loves her.

_You crazy fool. He doesn't love you anymore. He basically spelt it all out for you. Stop wanting what you can't have._

The more pragmatic side of her brain interrupts.

_He's past you now, Addison. You did this to your relationship. It's all your fault. You wasted your time here. Go back to New York. Salvage what's left of your life there. He left you hanging with your goddamn hand in the air. No high five for you or declarations of love for the dying or not._

She shuts both sides of her brain down, focuses on scrawling on words. "I-I gotta go, Derek."

No hidden or underlying message there. Just a curt, straightforward plea. _I gotta go._  And it's partly because this desperate scrawl is all her muddled brain can handle.

She wants to scream bloody murder when she walk out to the parking lot, remembering only then that she doesn't have her car.

Derek drove them to the hospital in his jeep the other morning. Though the jeep was all wrong for her because she doesn't, have never and have never thought she'll ever ride one, she kept her complaining to a bare minimum.

She's trying. It's all she can do.

She can't stay there or  _here_  any longer.

Nobody wants her here.

She's the devil.

Seattle, itself, doesn't even want her since it's purposefully messing with her hair in a bid to kick her out.

She's going back home with no husband. Only divorce papers. He has to sign it because it doesn't even make any sense for him not to.

All she has left with right now is just enough cognitive ability to understand that she needs to make it to her car, that's in the woods.

_Can't he see that she's trying to make them work?_

She still wants a drink though.  _Needs a drink._  She's craving to drink. But she just doesn't want to go back into that stupid bar with all it's damn cheer and optimism.  _Positivity_. She's done with optimism and smiles for a while, she thinks.

Indiscriminate shapes begin to blur past the window of the cab she managed to hop in to, falling into stooped hunches until she's pretty sure they're suffocating her, judging by the heavy lead weight on her chest.

But that doesn't make any sense. He knows her. She knows he still does. And he must have known that whatever he was going to say will -  _WILL_  eventually crush her to pieces. So, that contradicts whatever he was hoping to accomplish.

Her lungs are chugging desperately for air. The taxi driver is looking at her from his mirror. She doesn't care. She assures him that she's just fine. She just wants to get to that bar - whatever bar he's going to take her.

_Meredith wasn't a fling. She wasn't revenge. I fell in love with her._

Oh, she knows.

Derek loves Meredith. Meredith loves Derek. Everyone with eyes can see that. The only ones who can't seem to see that are Derek and Meredith, themselves

It's bad enough that they're -  _she's_  hospital gossip. A laughing stock. Now, every nurse and doctor, scrub technician and orderly will know that she lost her husband of eleven years to a one night stand. An intern.

A third wheel, that's what she is.

She's the third wheel in her marriage with her husband.

Sometimes she wishes she was blind because, in that way, Derek and Meredith can make googly eyes at one another and she'll be in total oblivion about it all. That would be much much easier for all of them.

For her. For him. And of course, for Meredith.

_That doesn't go away because I decided to stay with you._

She understands. _Sure, she does._ Love just doesn't go away no matter how many times you wish it upon a star. _Yes, she understands._ But when is he going to start trying.  _When?_  She've been waiting and judging by what he had just confessed to her, he's never going to.

_Why decide to stay with her, then?_

_To hurt her?_

Okay. She knows she have hurt him first.

* * *

After the day she has had, she needs to do something, something to keep her from sinking into an even deeper despair then she already is in. She needs to quell her burning thoughts and as she downed drink after drink, noting that after the third, the disgusting, burning taste of whiskey seem to dissipate into that of satisfaction, she no longer feels despair. She is feeling rather light, as if she were in a bubble and everything around her is suddenly funny and joyful.

Oh, she understands why Amy does what she does. But that doesn't mean she's doing what she  _does_.

_Or is it did?_

She isn't so sure anymore. It's not like she's very much liked by the Shepherds these days. They don't exactly talk  _to_  her now. Not at all actually. And it isn't like she's picking up the phone and dialling their numbers too. She also isn't exactly their number one fan lately. Well, it's not like she ever was to begin with. But talking  _about_  her is a whole other story. She's most definite that she'll be the gossip at all family gatherings to come.

They'll talk and talk and talk until the story twists and turns into something completely different.

About how she broke their beloved brother's heart, how she left him, how she slept with his best friend on their bed, how he had caught them in the throes.

She can already hear their criticism running around in her head.

_Rich. Entitled. Demanding. Brat. Cold. Arrogant. Overbearing. Skank. Cheat. Bitch._

As she thinks about all the adjectives, really, they're all accurate.

She understands where Amy  _is_ , or perhaps and hopefully,  _was_  coming from, that's all she's saying. The impulsion. The irrationality that doesn't seem all that irrational at the moment. The bad decisions that just keeps on piling till you throw your hands in the air and scream,  _fuck it_. Because you've had enough and you've absolutely resigned yourself from anything and anyone.

New York is where she wants to be in right now. But that's thousands of kilometres away and that's a dream that'll probably be fulfilled a week later because it's Christmas and it's difficult to get a flight last minute.

She really just wants to go home though. She wants to be with people that actually likes her.

She presses a finger to her cheek - yes, she can't feel her face.

Now, she understands why Amy does what she does. But it isn't a  _something_  for her that she craves.

She thinks she'll die without  _him_.

_Is that how Amy feels when she doesn't get her fix?_

She'll die without Derek. But the thing is, she knows it's a lie that she tells herself. It's not true - she knows it deep in her heart. It's the utterly terrifying fear that she'll lay alone forever that's eating at her.

_What if she ends up alone?_

_What if no one will ever want her?_

Because she's not getting any younger and her wrinkles aren't getting any smoother.

She glances into her tumbler, and sighs when she realises there is only a sip left. Tipping it back, she finishes it off, slamming it down onto the counter and calling for the bartender to fetch her another. She should really stop it at that and somehow saunter off to the woods and pack her bags because suddenly the world is spinning and she don't think she can walk in a straight line, let alone up a hill - a rather tiny one, a slope, maybe - without having to grip at her heels and walk bare foot into prehistoric times.

Maybe she can just find her way to a hotel - any hotel and throw herself onto a large and empty bed, and be grateful for the darkness that will engulf her.

Or, maybe she'll get lucky tonight and find someone to take her back to his place.

That's exciting. It's been almost two decades since she's had a one night stand.

Mark doesn't count because that wasn't so much as a one night stand than a series of mistakes after what ought to only be one night of misjudgement.

Derek hasn't said that he loves her...she don't recall him saying those three words to her recently. He's either not sure, or he really doesn't love her anymore.

She frowns at the thought and she feels tears clouding her vision as she wills herself not to cry, not to break down again. She honestly doesn't understand why he's not willing to save their eleven year marriage.

Her husband,  _Derek,_  doesn't want her.

She'd spent months tracking him down, and when she finally did, he, then, spent months playing with her emotions and getting her  _fucking_  hopes up, only to change his mind again and shoot her down.

 _Screw it,_  Addison thinks bitterly.  _Screw him. If he doesn't want her, then why try and chase it? Why try chasing him?_

A sharp whisk of the glass pulls her out of her head as she downs her fourth drink in one gulp, then forces herself to sip the fifth a little slower. Not that it matters, really. There's nowhere she needs to be tomorrow, no one who will be hurt by her hangover or her lack of focus.  _Still_. She has just enough self-preservation left to know that she should probably take it just a little bit easy tonight.

It's easy enough to pick up a guy. It always is. Midway through her fifth drink, the bartender sets another in front of her. "From the gentleman in the corner." he says, gesturing towards a man at the far end of the bar.

He's hot. Mysterious, good looking even with his chiseled jawline. His muscular arms are bulging through his t-shirt, and his smoldering eyes are undressing her. He catches her gaze, and lets a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

Definitely not a guy whom she'd go for. But ...  _what the heck!_ It's not like she's ever been consistent.

She studies him for a moment, then finishes her drink. Slamming it on the bar, then swallows the shot he bought her in one gulp before sliding off her barstool and walking towards him.

He doesn't say anything as she approaches, just holds her gaze. She stops in front of him, studying him for a long moment. His eyes slide down her body, stopping at her chest, her legs, before moving back up to her face.

"Let's get out of here." she rasps.

He follows her out of the bar without a word.

She should really be ashamed of herself since she's too old for this - she's far past her twenties. But she'd spent all of her twenties with Derek.

_Don't she get a free pass for that?_

**XXX**

She's had plenty of sex since she'd started dabbling at the age of eighteen. Mostly with the man she has spent a third of her life with, if not, almost all.

They've had all kinds of sex. Awkward first-time sex. Make up sex. Shower sex. Slow, tearful and passionate sex. Breakup sex. Adventurous sex. Super loud, let's piss the neighbours off sex. The oh-my-god-we're-married sex. Casual, let's get it done sex.

_Rough sex, though?_

Sure, they've done it in that nature a handful of times and she never complained. It's not like she's all that innocent in the whole dominant-submissive shebang. She most definitely doesn't have a halo around her head.

Biting. Clawing. Bruising. Hair fisting. Drawing blood. Shoving one another up against the walls. Fighting for dominance.

She enjoys the occasional pain and hardness that the kind accompanies and entrails. And it's something she've only ever discussed with Derek, felt comfortable in exploring herself with him. It's not something she's ever spoken out about with anyone else, certainly not with any of her other bed-mates and definitely never with any of her girlfriends.

But her current partner, whose name she never bothered to get - he seems to like rough sex a lot more than she's comfortable with.

When they reach his apartment, he shoves her on the bed, face down. And she can't help the yelp that she cried. She can't exactly breathe with the grip that's forcefully pressing her down and she really isn't sure how she had even managed to get to his bedroom as quickly as she did.

She did, though. And she's starting to regret this very decision.

Before she can really react and say something, he's on top of her, biting and sucking hard on her neck and on every exposed skin he can reach, all the while painfully groping and manhandling her breasts over her top. She panics and tries to shove him off, but he digs a knee hard into her back.

Now she really really can't breathe.

"Mmm, your ass." he murmurs in her ear, sliding his hand between her body and the mattress, unbuttoning her jeans. He works the zipper down, then shoves his fingers into her underwear and roughly inside of her. "You ready, baby?" he grunts and she swallows hard, chewing on a groan.

His other hand is pushing down his own jeans, she realises after hearing the distinctive sounds of a button being unbuttoned and zipper unzipped.

"Stop." she begs. She can barely breathe, can barely move. She tries to push herself up on her elbows, tries to roll over, but his weight is pressing her into the mattress, sandwiching her tight.

She needs to try a harsher approach.

"Get off me!" she yells, but her voice lacks volume and strength, and he doesn't even seem to hear her.

"Oh, yeah. You like being fucked like this, don't you?" he breathes in her ear. It's ragged and hot - his breath, and she can literally feel it condensing on her own cold skin.

He removes the grip that's seizing her air supply, only to be replaced by rough, disgusting, slobbery kisses. She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes wide with fear as her stomach tingles.

_Why is he doing this to her?_

"NOOOOOOOO!"

His grimy fingers shove her underwear aside, and suddenly, he's inside her. Pain ripples through her abdomen and she moans, pressing her face into the mattress and closing her eyes tightly. He thrusts again into her, harder, and she chokes back another moan.

The tears fall as muffled, yet desperate pleas escape her. They last only another moment before she stiffens completely as she realises what's happening  _to_  her. Her body going limp, her jaw going slack, and her eyes are so wide she's sure they're going to pop out of their sockets. So, she squeezes them shut and clutches the comforter between her fists to have something to hold onto and focuses on anything but  _this_.

Pain erupts from her core, radiating through her entire body until he's up and gone from the room and into what she thinks is the bathroom.

Laying there for a second no longer, her body still in shock, her mind tries to process what had just happened.

Addison pulls up her pants and attempts to flee the apartment. She's shaking so badly that she can't even manage to button her jeans. Her legs shakes as she stands, too weak to carry her weight and she almost face plants onto the wooden floor.

But she manages to regain composure and opens the door to a corridor where a couple, who lives two door across, raises a questionable brow at her dishevelled outer.

_Does he know what's happened to her?_

_What about her? Does she know?_

_Are they judging her?_

But then she thinks, rationally, that there's a slim chance any of them had any clue as to what had happened only a few minutes ago.

It doesn't matter.

She sniffles, wiping at her eyes before she heads towards the elevator, not uttering a word to a single person before she flings herself onto the street.

* * *

_What just happened?_

That...did not happen.

_No, it didn't, Addison. You're not a statistic. You're not one of them. You're fine. You're okay. More than okay, actually. You wanted it, remember? You were the one who picked him up. You were the one who took his drink. You were the who approached him. You were the one who willingly got into his car. No one had a gun to your head. You were the one who wanted to get fucked. Remember? Remember, Addison? You can't cry wolf now because the stranger didn't please you to your liking. You can't cry wolf because he, not once, had loosen the vice grip he had on your neck while he defiled you. You can't cry wolf because no one's ever going to believe you...and with your history...forget it. You asked for it._

Because at any point of tonight, she very easily could have done things differently. She could've not run off, for instance. She could've stayed at Joe's with Derek and have a better than what now is the worst Christmas of her life. Nothing can top this, she knows it for sure. She could've not acted like a spoiled child. The thing is, she is spoiled. Always been. She could've not drank as much as she did. She could've rejected his offer and not leave the bar with him. She could've not been so fucking needy. And she could've not gone to his apartment.

_She could've..._

She could've not been so impulsive.

The night is cruel and unearthly. The wind is whispering secrets to her. She's listening to them, listening intently. They're whispering ideas she thinks she wants to test out but does not have the courage. Not yet.

She might just take up on their offer.

Cold and moonless the Christmas night is, quiet, and she clutches her coat tighter around herself. She feels sick -  _oh-so_  sick to her stomach that she stops to vomit into the gutter. Her stomach twisted and heaved as it expels all the alcohol she had ingested today. She can't remember if she has had any food.

Lunch, perhaps.

Right, she actually was hoping they would have dinner together, or something close to that.

_Never now._

She's on her hands and knees on the curb, retching and gasping for air.

She wants to go home.

In all honesty, the trailer seems to be the best place to call home as of this second. It's tight, safe and warm. She can curl and hide away somewhere and anywhere inside that metal and never ever show herself ever again.

But Derek is the last person she wants to see at this moment in time.  _No, it's the other way round._  She wants to see Derek; she just doesn't want Derek to see her. Not like this. She don't think he'll be home though, and that's all great for her. He'll probably be at Meredith's. She's sure of it.

Taking a deep breath, Addison nods to herself.

 _Okay,_  she thinks silently. Once she's home, she'll take a shower or five. She'll scrub herself raw until she can't feel her skin.

Yes.

_You're doing great, Addison!_

She manages to climb back to her feet, wobbling unsteadily. She stumbles down the street, holding onto the wall for balance, her whole body shaking violently. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, and she can't seem to stop them. No one pays her any attention, and she's grateful.

Then, she'll pack her things and write a note for Derek to read when he gets back. And this time she'll really  _really_  go back home.

The walk is long and tedious, at least it is in her mind, but she slowly finds herself making her way up the tiny hill and across the bushes and up the tin steps to the tin front door.

It's dark. No one's home.

She makes it to the door of their home, digs her keys out of her purse. It takes her several tries to get the key in the lock, but she manages to get the door open, and herself into the threshold. She hadn't wanted to come back home, hadn't thought she could, but for a brief, horrible second, she's so relieved that Derek isn't here. That he doesn't have to see her like this.

Addison collapses to the ground as soon as she's inside the trailer. She feels her knees split open as it connects with something sharp. She fumbles for the phone in her pocket, but it isn't there. "No." she cries. "No, no, no!"

That did not happen.

She curls into herself on the floor and cries, banging her fists against the tin and taking gasping, wheezing breaths as she wails.

She can't.

She  _can't_...

She wants Derek to take her hand and promise her that it's all going to be okay. She wants him to hold her in his arms and kiss her hair. But she's pushed him so far away that he'll never come back to her.

**XXX**

The scraping sound of a key attempting to jam into the lock outside is unmistakably loud, waking him up from the sleep he's just managed to give himself.

He had tried waiting up for Addison, so they could talk, or at least attempt to start a conversation because they didn't to exactly that at Joe's. The night didn't go as he had anticipated.

No surprise there, though it was for him.

She ran and he can't exactly blame her for running.

Although it's now hard to believe, his true motive really wasn't to hurt her. Though that still is what came about tonight. He had hurt her.  _Badly too_. He'd be classified as a stupid fool for not noticing that.

 _He notices her_ , he thinks he should tell her that.

He can see it - the twinkle in her eyes dying down like an inflatable balloon.

No spark. No light. No flame. Just dull orbs of green-blues.

She needed space and he's more than qualified at understanding what that need means and so, he granted her just that and didn't chase after her.

But when ten o'clock turned eleven and that magically changed to one in the morning, he concluded that she'd decided to sleep at the hospital and he'll just surprise her with breakfast in the morning and they can start their much needed and dreaded conversation at that.

And now, he's wanting to swing his legs out of bed and flick the table lamp on, but then, he doesn't. He stops and squints - something or maybe it's the creative curses Addison is murmuring that is making his chest tight, and cold to run up his spine.

She's crying, miserably gasping for air and mumbling questionable tangents in the air.

His limbs fill with dread, and he can barely manage to get himself to move with the deep anguish in her cries.

She's scaring him.

Addison doesn't cry. Not at all.  _Fine, she's only human. So, sometimes. Perhaps, even rarely._ A few exceptions here and there. Still, generally, she doesn't cry.

But  _this_  - this isn't just crying. It's more. It's something else.

It's breaking his heart to hear her like  _this_. He did  _this_  to her.

He's hurt her.

The last time he's heard her cry this much was when they were in their twenties, interns with two different last names.

 _Dr. Montgomery._ _Dr. Shepherd._

They were a lot different back then. A lot less sad and complicated, he thinks.

She was beating herself up for killing that baby when she obviously hadn't - a cruel but necessary lesson from Richard, who was Dr. Webber to them both back then.

Through the mist of black and hard sniffles, he can only make out the back of a kneeling figure with stooped and quivering shoulders.

"Addie?"

He calls warily and he sees her visibly jump at his voice and clears what he knows is tears with the back of her hands.

_What is he doing here?_

She might have just made a mistake of going back home.

He's here and he's going to know something's wrong. He's going to know that she's just been violated.

She hears the creak of the equally tin bed, which means he's either turning to his side or getting out of bed. And when she hears the jiggle of the chain on the table lamp, she yells, "Don't!"

" _Don't?_ "

It's a reasonable question.  _Why doesn't she want him to turn the lights on?_  She don't want him to see her so ugly.

She's Addison - always prim and proper.

He's her husband. He has seen her at her worst on countless occasions. But it's different now.

_They're different._

"No. Sorry, Derek. Umm...did I wake you? Sorry...just, just go back to bed.  _Okay_?"

Her voice cracks higher at the end, like she's swallowing a cry.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he gets up, walking towards her and she murmurs something he couldn't quite catch.

The floor is cold against his soles and he realises and is coming to terms with all her top complaints about the trailer. It's cold and to be honest, sometimes he does feel as though they're packed like sardines, void of any life and fresh air.

"Are you alright, Addie?"

And he tries to draw up every possibility as to why his wife is on the floor, sobbing wildly and uncontrollably. He winces slightly, wondering if it still might've been from their conversation earlier.

"I'm okay. Just... _go away_ , Derek...Please."

He doesn't believe her at all.  _She's not fine._ His mind and body is telling him to turn the lights on because something is so very wrong with Addison. He can feel it in his bones. So, he fumbles with the switch on the far corner of the wall, immersing the trailer in just enough soft brightness to bring light into the pitch black.

She covers her face quickly, whimpering at the stiffness of her body.

She can still feel his hands all over her, his harsh breath in her ears. He's still everywhere on every inch of her skin and she wants nothing more than to submerge in hot boiling water.

There's no bathtub in the metal box.

"I'm fine." she says, her own voice more aggressive and angry then she intends. "Why don't you just leave me alone, Derek?"

He's getting a lot more irritated by the passing second and her stubbornness isn't making things easier on either of them. "Addie. Look at me."

That - she didn't mean it like that.

She shakes her head, "I'm, ahh, really, just really tired." she hopes he can hear the apology in her words.

He still doesn't understand why she's covering her face.

"Addison, I don't have time to play games with you."

When she absolutely wants to be left alone and all by herself, he wants to pretend that he still cares.

She sighs in frustration and so does he.

"Addison," It's an exhale and he crouches by her side, attempting a softer and less rude approach, "What the hell is going on?"

He puts a hand on her wrist, trying to push her hands away from her face and she does, unexpectedly too and with no small effort.

She isn't sure what happened - she flinches.  _Violently_. She yelped like he had just slapped her across the face.

It looks like he did by the way she's looking at him.

Derek, too, draws back like she's hit him. He stared at her, mouth open in shock.

"Sorry." she says, trying to calm her racing heart, trying to turn away so he wouldn't see her. Too late, she knows that now. "I'm just...I just want..." she can't figure out what she wants, what to say, what to ask for.

He sees it - what she's hiding, revealing more than what he's prepared to comprehend.

She's a mess of tattered, ripped clothing, jeans  _unbuttoned_ , smeared makeup, and messy, more than just tousled hair and Derek finds himself piecing it altogether until his own eyes are clouding with tears and he's staring at his wife in disbelief.

_No! No!_

But it's unmistakable. He's seen it plenty of times at the hospital. Girls like her - battered, scared, shaking, crying, trying to look as though they're okay when they're really actually not.

There are bite marks on her neck and scored flesh from where canines abraded her tender skin. Dried red on her bottom lips that's beginning to swell badly. He can see all the purpling impressions over chafed skin and his blood begins to boil.

_No! No!_

It's a sight difficult to wrap his head around.

_Who? Who? Who?_

He's going to kill that disgusting pig.

She begins to sob again - loud, disgusting cries that are causing her to breathe in shallow breaths.

He just watches her. Raw and expelling what she has left. The pain she is in, he feels it too. He'd rather go blind, really. And deaf too.

_Who did this to her?_

"Who-" he wanted to engulf her in his arms which in hindsight wasn't the brightest of ideas because she began screaming on top of her lungs, piercing his eardrums.

There's no life for miles on end, otherwise cops would've already been at the door.

"Addie! Addie!" his tone is urgent.

She doesn't listen though. She's wailing and pushing him away.

" _Addison_." It's a plea.

He doesn't know what else to do since she's clearly somewhere else.

He doesn't know how to calm her down.

He doesn't understand why  _this_  happened to her.

It's not fair.

"Hey, hey. Addison, darling, please calm down," grabbing her face between his palms. "It's me. It's Derek. It's just me." he shouts a decibel above hers. But it all seems to just be making things worse as she tries to frantically claw at his face and scream at him not to touch her.

He doesn't know what to do for her now. "Addie, you're safe." he says softly.  _Is she? Is she even safe with him?_

His heart is pounding violently against his chest, his vision blurs at the squirming cold in front of him. He tries to shake her, snap her out of this trance, but she just cries out louder.

Their equally blue blues met and what he sees is raw and pure fear in her eyes.  _She's afraid of him_. And so, he respected her wishes and he let her go. Not give up on her. But just let go of her.

She quickly ushers to a corner, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself.

There's still tears left to cry.

_She's afraid of him._

"I'm sorry." he whispers, clamping his hands tightly over his own ears. He doesn't want to hear her anymore. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Addie. I'm sorry..."

He's sorry. He's so sorry.

_She's afraid of him._

He's not giving up on her. Just letting go of her.

She's crying, still crying and he's afraid she'll hurt herself, or he'll hurt her.

She's loud.  _Oh-so loud._  Salt travels down his cheeks too.

He can still hear her long after shutting both doors - the trailer and his jeep. And even after the engine sung through the roaring winds.

He's crying. And she's still crying.

* * *

_**Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I** _ _**t's a sensitive topic, but I wanted to explore something different.** _

_**What do you guys think? I'd love to know. Please review! REVIEW!** _


	2. Life's a Bitch, Ain't It, Addison?

**Warning. Mentions of sexual assault. Warning. Read with caution.**

 

* * *

**Find Your Voice**

 

_**Chapter Two** _

 

Life's a bitch, ain't it, Addison?

 

* * *

_. . .Maybe there's something you're afraid to say, or someone you're afraid to love, or somewhere you're afraid to go. It's gonna hurt. It's gonna hurt because it matters. . ._

 

-:-

He's done it again.

_What?_

He's done it again. He's shamelessly leaving _her_ \- his wife.

_Why?_

He's done it again. He's leaving her all alone and sodden with tears.

_Where?_

 He's done it again. He's leaving her frightened out of her mind and shattered at their home.

_How?_

It's not _their_ home, he has to remind himself of that. It's only his. It's not the brownstone - _their_ brownstone - because that's their home and their home is thousands of kilometres away.

New York is their home.

But their brownstone isn't something they mention to one another anymore. It still exists. It's still unoccupied. It's still there and their's. It's still not a topic they willingly bring up. Because now, their brownstone equals to Mark and that's equivalent to _that night_. And _that night_ is something they don't ever want to speak about, let alone think about.

It's, really, all just feeble attempts of deflection since _that night_ is all he can think about when he looks at her, when she's around him, whenever she speaks and breathes too.

He sees her, then, with his best friend's hands everywhere on what's his and flesh-on-flesh that's too pale, that's now embedded in his memory.

It's always there, it will always be there - silently or perhaps, not so silently, but lingering as unrest souls.

Still, as hardly as it is talked about - only when he conveniently feels like bringing it up to throw her betrayal in her face - it's their uncomfortable silence that whispers everything of _that night_.

It's always the elephant in every room. And wherever they go, whenever they're alone in the same room, it's different.

Very different, indeed.

Not awkward, if they don't make it so, just different.

_Hostile. Venomous. Wrathful. Secretive._

And he needed to get out of that trailer. He just had to. No explanations, no reasons whatsoever needed. But he has one. A reason that's more than enough; he couldn't, he thinks he had tried - he couldn't stand to see her like that. Just listening to her had broke him. He had to beg his other half to put one foot in front of the other and just walk out.

He didn't really want to, though. He had to.

It's haunted with no ghosts because it's haunted with something much more earth shattering and heartbreaking - her relentless screams.

_No! No! No!_

And when she flinched - he couldn't, he didn't know what else to do but run.

She couldn't look at him. Maybe wouldn't. But he had caught a glimpse of her blank stare. She was afraid of him.

_She is afraid of him._

He never intended to hurt her. He was just wanting to comfort her because that's what you do when someone has been hurt. _You comfort them._ But then, she pushed him away. And now, he's away. That's what she wanted, what she begged him to do.

_Go away!_

He's driving away, fast like he's evading from the police. _No, he's escaping Addison_. But unlike the first time, he hasn't got any mode of compass or someone to seek refuge to. This must be how Addison feels on a daily basis. _Alone_.

She moved to Seattle for him. He chose to stay with her instead. But she's still very much alone.

He's just driving, driving with a mind that's empty with darkness.

Oh, that's false, because his mind is not pitch black, it's racing, sprinting with thoughts from all directions.

_Up. Down. Left. Right. North. South. East. West. Diagonal. Horizontal. Vertical._

Suddenly, it's her pained and heavy blue eyes in his head, begging him to do something else other than stare at her the way that he did. It's all he could do; gawk at the broken in front of him. He didn't know what else to say to her so she could feel safe or even just okay.

No one had ever told him that one day he'd be in this predicament.

Then, she's bursting brutally in tears again.

She didn't have to say it. Besides he don't think he wants to hear it, hear her say it. Because only then, it will be true. It will be real - that she's been so very hurt.

Because right now, this could actually be just a dream, a horrible nightmare and he'll wake up any minute now.

For all he knows, she could've been robbed.

_She actually was._

She didn't have to say it because her equally huge blues were telling him more than what he's prepared to hear. It's voicing the words she cannot dare say. It's telling him that someone had stolen and ripped something deep and intangible away from her.

Something irreplaceable.

Something that was hers and only hers.

He closes his eyes and grips at the steering wheel tight and shake Addison away from his thoughts.

_Don't touch me!_

 

Running is easy. Running away from what he doesn't want to face is child's play. _He's_ _doing it again_. It's the mere thought of having to face them is making him want to sprint.

 

And it's Addison that he doesn't want to face. Only because it's much too painful to look at her.

 

His wife looks almost unrecognisable - just almost.

 

_Dishevelled. Messy. Out of place._

 

The way her clothes stretched at the shoulders around her broken frame. Hairs that are matted and yanked out of it's roots. The torn hem of her sweater that exposed shredded skin that someone had mercilessly clawed. Lips that he chewed to a pulp. Her unbuttoned jeans - that he can't even begin to express, because it only makes his blood boil to think about how defenceless she must have felt.

 

His Addison is strong. A fighter. She fought back. He knows she must. She's never helpless.

 

But those aren't even the worst sights - it's how she so desperately clung to her body as if she were clinging onto something that isn't there anymore.

 

It hurts too much to look at her and that's why he's running. _Again_. It hurts too fucking much to see and to hear what had happened to her. _It hurts_. It hurts like nothing he's ever felt before.

 

This pain, it's incomparable to _that night_ in New York.

 

It's her pain that he's feeling. It hurts his middle, his soul because she is ultimately him. _They're united as one_. They were fused as one when they got married. Not only did his surname became hers, but everything else did too.

 

His successes are hers too.

 

Her sorrow are his to claim as well.

 

Her pain is his pain because that's what loving her for a third of his existence have taught him - if it has taught him anything.

 

Everything inside him is burning in flames and it's just aching so immensely now to know that she must feel worse. Much much worse. He knows what he feels couldn't even come close to hers.

 

Someone had hurt her.

 

_Someone had ..._

 

He's making a right turn, flooring the gas pedal just above the legal limit, waiting to see where this endless and empty road will take him. Because, really, he's just numb and he can't seem to figure out why he is running away, because unlike the first time, she hasn't done anything remotely wrong.

 

_How can you leave your wife alone in the middle of nowhere, you fool? You left her crying on the cold tin floor. You just left her there without even trying to comfort her._

 

He didn't want to run. But he is.

 

This is not her fault.

 

_She's ... she's been ..._

 

He can't say it. He can't think it. He can't even want to imagine anyone putting their hands on his wife, hurting her, causing her pain and forcefully holding her down, so much so that it left her marked.

 

But it's all he can really think about.

 

_He hurt Addison._

 

There are unwanted images in his head, soul crushing cries that he's never heard before. It's so loud. It's echoing through the woods. _No_. It's vibrating in his skull and it's making the hairs on the back of his neck stand and he just stops.

 

Stops everything that he's doing altogether. He stops driving, letting go the wheel and pressing abruptly on the brakes. He stops his lungs from getting in a breath and if his heart could stop pounding too, he wouldn't protest now.

 

Addison is screaming. She's screaming in his ear.

 

He's never heard her scream so loud before but it is unmistakably her voice and he wants _it_ \- wants her to stop.

 

But he can't do anything to stop _it, her_. So, he screams it in his head.

 

_Stop it!_

 

And when that only causes her to scream his name, to cry out louder for him to help her, he finds himself drowning in sea of thunderous shrieks. And he screams along and louder too to quash hers.

 

"Stop!" he shakes his head, vigorously to stop the echoes of her cries.

 

_DEREK!_

 

The sound waves are reflecting his name one after the other, continuously in a loop.

 

_DEREK!_

 

He's never hated his name so much before.

 

"Stop it!" he clamps his hands over his ears. "I can't ..."

 

_He can't take it._

 

But it isn't even shutting the images in his head.

 

Closing his eyes doesn't even help. In fact, it worsens the blow.

 

"No ..." he croaks, shaking his head, but the word is stuck in his throat.

 

What _he's_ doing to his wife is making him sick to his stomach and dizzy with rage.

 

"No ... Addie, Addie, no ..." he leans over the steering wheel and then his body is shaking with sobs.

 

It only gets worse.

 

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" he balls his fists and with each and every shout, he slams them onto the wheel. "Stop it! Don't!" he's ripping in thousands and what he sees is an agony like he's never experienced before.

 

_He hurt her._

 

He's hurting her. _Why?_ He can see it. _Why?_

 

_She's scared and alone - someone had hurt her in the worst way possible and you think now is the right time to work on your inner demons? Don't you think she needs her husband, Derek?_

 

He's the worst kind of hypocrite.

 

_He's hurting her far more deeply, isn't he?_

 

She's confused, charged with anxiety and he's only making her worse by not supporting her. She had just been terrorised and totally violated and he's here - alone and crying in the middle of the road when he could be with Addison.

 

He's wasting perishable time.

 

He ought to be helping her through this trauma, calming her down, comforting her, tending to her immediate needs and whispering reassurance.

 

_She needs him more than ever._

 

And if she will let him, he'll hold her and wipe her tears away and tell her that what had happened tonight wasn't her fault, her doing or her causing, that he doesn't blame her and she shouldn't too because he knows she will.

 

He'll tell her that he'll be right by her side through every step, that it's their mission to get through together, that he will not give up on her and she shouldn't too because she can't grant the bastard the satisfaction of knowing that he'd taken power and control of her life.

 

He loves her and he's going to fix this – he's going to make it right and he's going to take away her pain.

 

_He's going to kill him._

 

He didn't help her but he's going to.

 

She needed him and he wasn't there to help her.

 

_He will, though._

 

He couldn't before because he didn't know. He wasn't there when it had happened. He couldn't have stopped it from happening. He didn't know where she was.

 

There's nothing he could have done.

 

_Right?_

 

He just didn't know.

 

He thought she was at the hospital.

 

He thought she was with the quints.

 

He thought she was safe in the NICU.

 

He thought she was okay.

 

And he had slept through it all.

 

And in peace too.

 

* * *

It hurts.

 

It hurts her heart.

 

And more so her soul.

 

It hurts far more than what's happened to her tonight - what she _made_ happen, actually, because it's really just all her fault.

 

She shouldn't have gotten so drunk.

 

She shouldn't have picked him up. She's married for Christ's sake.

 

_She's married ..._

 

She don't think it's her heart that's even in pain because, to be honest, she can hardly feel a thing right now. This hurt - she just knows that that's what she's feeling - is somewhere deep inside of her.

 

So deep in treasure and so cruelly vicious that it's wanting to propel anyway and anyhow. Not hiding because it's falling, expelling from her eyes. But the thing is, it's numbing all the other sensations she's suppose to feel right now and she does not want that.

 

She craves to feel everything - every minuscule of every emotion and sensation that she ought to be experiencing after that thing that had just happened - no matter it's vast and potency. She wants to feel them like a force thrusting her down. She needs to feel all the fiery burn burning simultaneously. She should feel them picking at her skin like she's the plague.

 

It's not fair. It's not fair. She should feel something.

 

_What's happening to her?_

 

She's wants to feel them altogether.

 

Not one after the other, but all at the same time, like a chorus or a harmony.

 

All at once. _Playing together as one_. All at once. _United_. All at once.

 

She's desperate to feel something other than _this_ pain.

 

It hurts so bad that she can't even feel her hands. They're shaking, she notices, and she holds them together to keep them from doing just that.

 

She wants Derek to take her hands and promise her that it's all going to be okay. She wants him to hold her in his arms and kiss her hair. But he's gone.

 

When she opened her eyes, when she had just almost pulled herself back together, he wasn't there anymore and so weren't his keys.

 

_He is gone._

 

He left.

 

He's never going to come back.

 

He's disgusted. It's evident in his eyes. He had looked at her with recoil and repulsion, even much more repentant than after _that night_ with Mark.

 

_So, what is worse than feeling nauseous?_

 

She's been tainted. He doesn't want to be with her anymore.

 

_What's happening to her? Why isn't she feeling something else?_

 

She would really like to feel - _feel everything._ Not just _this_ damn pain, she's begging for something else. _Please! Please!_ She'll do anything to feel more than this.

 

She's afraid that perhaps _this_ pain that she's feeling is so mighty intense that it has fried up all of her nerve endings and synapses and neurotransmitters and that's resulting her in feeling nothing.

 

But it's not nothing that she's feeling because she does feel something. Only that that's the best way to put it and really describe what she's feeling - _nothing_.

 

She feels nothing.

 

Nothing is the emotion she feels.

 

She absolutely needs to feel more, though.

 

So, with her hands still shaking with pins and needles, she reaches out with both hands to claw at anything above - a chair - in order to pull herself out of this rabbit hole she's allowed herself to fall into and rises on unsteady legs and limps like she's broken something into the bathroom.

 

She somehow manages to peel off her clothes, and carefully too because she doesn't really want to touch them.

 

And she doesn't.

 

She doesn't like the smell of it and her skin smells the same. _It smells like him_. She doesn't like the look of it and she can see it smeared everywhere on her skin, shining bright like neon lights. Derek must have seen them too. It's clearly there and it's filthy with muddy paws. _It looks like his hands._

 

And she flings the last of her clothing to a corner.

 

She wishes she could just throw herself into a wall too. She wonders how will that feel like.

 

_Satisfaction?_

 

After a while of waiting, she dips her toes into the steaming sea of water - _no_ , she walks right into the scorching shower, breathing through the welcoming sting of the hot water as her skin burns and numbs inch by inch and over all the sides and corners of her flesh.

 

She smiles.

 

She sinks.

 

She'll be okay. She's going to be just fine. After this, she'll pack and go. She'll be fine.

 

She will be okay.

 

And for just a second, she's sighing in relief because her skin is screaming at her to stop the hot pouring water and she thinks she can be clean again.

 

She will finally be alright.

 

Droplets are trickling down her body, and she's counting them or at least she's trying to, because suddenly she can't keep up. She feels inadequate now, like how the heck will she ever be okay if she can't even count.

 

_What's happening to her?_

 

It's more than just water that she sees and she's choking on a gasp and water - lots of them - when a trail of red starts to swirl down the drain. Clutching at her chest and staring at the red, she tries to hack an air in but she only seems to keep coughing on the many water.

 

_Inhale. Inhale. Inhale._

 

_Just keep inhaling, Addison!_

 

She needs more.

 

So, she adjusts the intensity and temperature of the waterfall by turning the faucet a little more to the left and pulling it higher. She wants to feel the rough pounding and the jagged edges of the water and she wants it to hit her skin like a hail of bullets and she needs it to be beyond scorching.

 

It hurts.

 

She doesn't know what hurts more - Derek or the what _she_ did or this burning water. All she knows for certain is that she's hurting too much and she just wants it to stop.

 

_Oh, it hurts._ It hurts. And it still hurts.

 

She stands but her legs are wobbling. She don't think she can hold herself up for much longer. She bites on her lip and winces because the water is just so hot. _So so hot._ She tries to keep her eyes so wide open but it's just not possible because the water is angry at her and not to mention, it's getting in her eyes and it's punishing. But she still tries not to blink.

 

_Don't blink, Addison. You don't want to see him, now do you?_

 

_Or do you?_

 

She don't.

 

But then, she can't stop herself any longer.

 

She blinks.

 

She sees _him_ and her whole body is convulsing for minutes on end, retching and gasping.

 

Holding onto the wall in front, she glues her eyes down at the floor tiles by her feet as the water pounds on the back of her head and slips without getting into her eyes.

 

_Yes, something is finally right._

 

She doesn't have to blink anymore and she watches as her skin turns a hue so red it's basically blood.

 

As her hot tears mixes with the water, she begins to panic because she doesn't know which is which anymore. Both of them looks the same, it's nothing distinguishable or distinctive.

 

It tastes like dirt.

 

It's both salty.

 

_It tastes like him._

 

Oh, this - wherever she's trying to do is doing nothing for her.

 

_Why isn't anything she's doing working?_

 

This is not enough.

 

So, she fumbles for the shower pouf by the corner, all the while never taking her eyes off the floor tiles, and presses the mesh hard onto her forearm and she begins to scrub in circular motions.

 

_He touched her there._

 

She moves the loofah up to her chest not so gently, then down to her torso once the epidermis of her left arm and chest burn and brighten with crimson pumps.

 

_He touched her there too. And there and there and there ..._

 

He touched her everywhere and she can still feel him touching her.

 

_No! No! No!_

 

_Why isn't anything working?_

 

She's trying. All she ever does is try. Her marriage. Her relationship with her husband and now, this. She's trying. She really is trying to forget.

 

_Why can't he see that?_

 

She rams her fists against the wall fiercely, kicking and screaming. The painful water above muffles her pained wails and she can't see anything anymore because of the clouds of steam. And she screams so loud again and again and again, until that turns into a hacking cough because that's now all just too much for her. She's a pathetic human who wants pain but can't even take it.

 

There's no one here or for miles and miles.

 

_Why couldn't she have screamed louder?_

 

Especially when her sanity and dignity and worth was counting on that very expulsion.

 

_Oh, she needs Derek_.

 

And this time, she really does.

 

There was once a once upon a time when her husband can do no harm. Especially to her; he could never do her any wrong.

 

He's not perfect - _oh, no, he's not_ \- but she's not saying he isn't either.

 

Maybe back in the day when loving him had no consequences. When she was blinded with love and love and only love.

 

Maybe when loving him was young, wild, and free. When she would wake up to a rose on the pillow next to her after a night of heated argument and ultimately, she'd always _always_ cave.

 

Maybe when loving him was cool, and hot, and sweet. When the rose on the pillow signified more than just an apology. It was a token of his love for her. It was an awaited kiss to her lips. And every time, she willingly forget every hurtful thing he'd said to her the night before.

 

Maybe when empty gestures, a brief pressing of lips against a wound that would take much longer to heal, a wound no amount of kisses could begin to repair.

 

But loving him - she've always known would be so precarious.

 

She loves him. She loves Derek, so much so that it physically hurts her to the bone.

 

And her heart is in shreds because he's not here.

 

_He hates her._

 

_Will Derek be back? To kick her out again?_

 

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts so much to love him. But it's worth the pain. He's worth the pain. He's always worth it. And his ego knows it too.

 

Her hand is cramping badly but she doesn't stop the wire mesh from chafing her skin because _he's_ licking her, chewing her, clawing her, yanking her, shoving her and she still feels him inside of her.

 

**XXX**

 

" _Addison_."

 

He parks his jeep, unbuckles his seatbelt and races out, all in one fleeting breath. Then, he's taking three huge leaps to the front door landing.

 

He's sorry. He shouldn't have left. He wasn't thinking straight.

 

If anything were to happen to her - but something has already happened to her, he's too late to make false declarations.

 

_Shit!_

 

"Addie, no." he mutters to himself as he pushes through the threshold. His heart kicks up when he hears the shower running.

 

_No. No. No. No._

 

She's not supposed to do that. She knows she's not supposed to. She knows she shouldn't.

 

Addison knows it so well.

 

She's the one who gives talks at the women shelter and at the crisis centre too. She's the one who advices on the dos and don'ts. She's the one who does the exams at the hospital.

 

_She knows._

 

And she has to know that she's potentially damaging evidence.

 

_How are they ever going to prove it happened?_

 

It's a matter of he said, she said. And it almost never ends well for the 'she'.

 

They've got nothing on _him_ if not evidence. And she is the evidence. And he really needs to find the bastard who did this to her.

 

He stumbles into the trailer and runs a few steps to the bathroom.

 

He knocks. _Twice_. His other hand is already twisting on the doorknob. "Addison. I'm coming in. Okay."

 

But it isn't a question that he intends for an answer and so, he braces himself. Breathing through his nose as he turns the knob and there's no turning back now. There shouldn't be, he should see her.

 

A milky cloud of steam rushes past him when he pulls the door open. He can't exactly see her, but he can hear her crying over the sound of the pounding shower.

 

He slowly walks in, taking deliberate and purposeful steps. "Addie?"

 

He still doesn't see her, only a hunched outline of a body that he's sure is Addison, but then, his vision clears of all the steamy clouds, and what he sees next makes him suck in a breath.

 

He winces.

 

She's standing, looking almost like she's about to fall if not for that wall she's resting her forehead on, and she's practically convulsing under the current, scrubbing to a pulp. Rubbing hard to clean, he swallows hard, nauseated at the painstaking sight.

 

She's drawing prickles of blood everywhere. And she doesn't even seem to feel it.

 

He feels it and it stings.

 

"Addison ..." he takes another deep breath and another step forward, very well aware of her frailty, afraid to make any sound because he doesn't want to scare her again.

 

He don't think she has even heard him.

 

It's the first time, he thinks, in years that he really actually noticed her body. The prominence of her rib cage and the pointy sharp column of her vertebrae. Addison has always been slender but never so unrecognisably small.

 

Her body is a canvas of abraded weaves. Here and there, it's a surface of irritation and forming red and purple. It's not her flawless porcelain skin that he's staring at anymore.

 

She looks nothing like the woman he married. She can't be his Addison. _No!_ She looks so small, so fragile, so broken, so not like Addison. Addison is tough, confident which at times, could be mistaken for being borderline opinionated, and strong.

 

She is strong.

 

_Oh, almost too strong sometimes._

 

"Addie, it's okay." He knows it's not. _Who is he trying to convey?_ It's not ever, he thinks. For her. For them too. Mostly though, for her.

 

He still walks slowly - almost beside her now and he's just realising that the water, as a few had splashed onto his face, is warm.

 

Reaching in to turn off the faucet - _Ouch!_ \- he pulled his hand back almost just as quickly because it's just too hot. Not at all warm as he had first thought.

 

It's more than just hot, in fact, the water is scalding. He doesn't understand how she could still stand under it.

 

He feels tears sting in his eyes, and he blinks to force them back. He can feel the well of emotions beginning to rise inside him - anger to sadness, horror then regret then back to anger again.

 

Chancing a quick glance down at her naked body, he notices just how red and inflamed her skin have become. Almost like she has had been rubbing and burning it raw.

 

_No._ That's exactly how it looks and that is exactly what she has been doing.

 

Derek sighs, then gritted through his teeth when he reached into the burning spray again to turn the faucet off.

 

The water stops and a split second of relief fills him, but then, he's anxious again because she doesn't stop.

 

He wants to put his arms around her to make her stop, but he knows not to.

 

He wants to kiss her skin better to take her pain away, at least some of it, because what's hers is his too.

 

_Remember?_

 

He can take it.

 

He thinks he can.

 

But that wouldn't change anything.

 

He wants to tell her he's so very sorry that he wasn't there to protect her, that he shouldn't have said anything at all.

 

Nothing is voicing out because he's having to force down the bile that's wanting to rise up his throat.

 

_Stop, Addison._

 

Her hands clenches the shower pouf that's a gnawing friction on her slight hip. Her skin is red and peeling in shreds. She still doesn't stop and with their close proximity, he can see what she's been trying to cover up. He can actually see what's beneath the scraped flesh, what she's hiding, what she mustn't want anyone and herself included to see.

 

He feels a surge of anger and pure hatred well up from the pit of his stomach. He has been too shocked, too stunned, too worried to comprehend, but now, looking at her, he realises, for the first time, the full extent of what has happened _to_ his wife.

 

_Someone had hurt Addison so badly._

 

It's large buttons of fingertips and long melted streaks of hands after hands up and down her arms, her wrists, her torso, her hips, and her breasts.

 

He needs to find him and make him pay, hurt him like he had hurt Addison.

 

_Why? Why Addison? Of all people, why his wife?_

 

He has never had to worry too much about Addison because she is very capable, she always takes care of herself.

 

His hands shakes as he reached out to touch her. He doesn't and stuffs them in his pockets.

 

_Who did this to you?_

 

There's an awfully large pigmented ugly lesion on the small of her back and he watches his whole world crumble apart cruelly as he slowly but surely comprehends how she's got it.

 

_No. No. No. Don't think about it! Don't!_

 

But he can't help it. He can't help but think of how she got that nasty bruise.

 

It looks scary. Too scary to be on Addison.

 

_He held for down from behind ..._

 

_He was behind her the entire time he ..._

 

It's not true. It can't be like that.

 

_No, not like that._

 

Derek closes his eyes, doesn't will the tears away, only his rage. And he splutters incoherents and instinctively runs his hands over his face.

 

He can't do this right now. Addison is scared. He needs to be calm for her.

 

"Addison, honey, stop," he starts but it comes out more as a plea.

 

_"Stop."_

 

A croak, his voice breaks. He reaches out slowly and carefully with his right hand until his fingertips gently rests on her bowed shoulders.

 

She fights.

 

He begs.

 

Someone is grabbing both of her arms now and she gasps and gasps, but those aren't reaching her lungs. She tries to pull away - her arms had gone numb so long ago and her stomach twists and turns when that someone is shaking her to stop.

 

_Noooooo!_

 

" _Stop_."

 

But she's not doing anything. She can't even feel her arms. Or anything for that matter.

 

_How can she stop when she's not doing anything?_

 

But then, she notices that this particular touch isn't at all rough, it's so gentle and soft and familiar and it's just registering to her that she finally feels something other than pain.

 

It's rubbing away all the anguish all over her skin and she stops because she hasn't felt this in so long that it's almost so foreign and new to her.

 

It's so soft that it's making her hiccup with sobs.

 

She hears her name from afar and she's searching, straining her ears to pinpoint where it's coming from.

 

It's doing something that stills her altogether. It's leaning in so close to her lips that she can actually feel the words it's speaking. "Please it's me, Addie. Enough ..."

 

_It's Derek._

 

He brings their joined hands to the side of her face, never letting her go as he strokes with his thumb at the space where her crease should be when she smiles. "Enough."

 

Everything is whirling everywhere, it's making her so dizzy and nauseous that her eyes expels agony. Then, she feels damp woven on her cheek and she's inhaling something that she loves so immensely, that it hurts so greatly.

 

She's going mad with pain and she's savouring it, not dumping it in an asylum, because Derek is always _always_ worth all the sacrifice and pain.

 

He grabs a towel that's hanging on the rack and wraps it around her shoulders, tugging at the two ends around her body when she made no incentive to move.

 

Goosebumps scatters across her aflamed skin and he slowly brings her into his arms, automatically moving a hand along her back to warm her.

 

He feels her body tense up when he touched her, she didn't flinch, so he didn't make a move to pull away either.

 

He sighs and closes his eyes, silently thanking her for finally calming down. She's resting under his chin, the crook of his neck and he kisses the top of her head.

 

_I'm sorry, Addie. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you_ _. I didn't know. I didn't know._

 

She feels much safer now, he thinks. That must mean progress.

 

_Is this how Christmas will be for them for now and forever?_

 

It feels like forever later that he finally feels her relax - just the very slightest exhale, though, and like muscle memory, she reaches up to clutch his shirt in her fists and her nails slightly digs into his skin as she grips tighter and tighter.

 

But it's okay, it's more than okay because what matters right now is for Addison to feel safe, to know that she is.

 

He wraps one arm around her waist with tentative care too, so she wouldn't feel as though she's trapped, and the other softly stroked her hair - the red that is dripping wet, and in knots. He kisses her hair once more and holds her, muttering apologies into the netted tangles.

 

"You're safe. I've got you. _I've got you._ " he repeats it twice so he'd believe it himself. To believe that who he's holding is the same Addison he so ruefully ignored yesterday and today and perhaps, for years and years, that he only realises now.

 

_I won't let you go._

 

_I'm sorry, Addie. I'm so sorry._

 

She closes her eyes for a moment - just a moment, listening to his familiar hushed voice and trying to get her breath to steady.

 

_It's_ _just Derek. It's only Derek. Derek is holding you. He's nice and soft and gentle._

 

But she still sees the guy from the bar and hands that are painfully skinning and groping her everywhere.

 

"I'm so sorry." he says again and again and again.

 

_He's sorry._

 

She opens her eyes, no longer able to handle the worldly qualms that's making her deathly anxious again, and she looks directly into his and what she's staring at is an overture of agony and she realises for the first time tonight that she is the reason for his pained blues.

 

_He's so sorry._

 

She is too.

 

It isn't his fault. It never is. It is all hers.

 

_Why is he sorry?_

 

But he won't be for long, not when he knows what actually happened - the truth.

 

The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

 

She picked up the guy.

 

She went to his apartment.

 

She got what she wanted.

 

_You wanted to "not feel" - as you described it, remember, Addison? And here you are...not feeling. So, stop making a fool of yourself._

 

For a few minutes that's never enough, his eyes met hers, and they both just stared. They haven't done _this_ in a long time - let time tick away while they both look at each other wordlessly, listening to beating hearts that's pounding with electricity.

 

Perhaps they should've.

 

They should've taken care of each other better.

 

He should've cared more about their marriage.

 

He should've respected her more, loved her more, understood her more, made her smile more, and know all that she's been trying for them is for them.

 

Their betterment.

 

He shouldn't have taken her for granted.

 

He realises it all now.

 

It's hours and hours of neither of them moving for him, and now, he's not sure what the next step is, what to say even, what to do. But it is like she knew what he was thinking - _oh, Addison always knows_ \- and broke their silence.

 

"You came back." she whispers. Her voice so painfully scratchy, it's barely intelligible. He understands her, though. Her teeth are chattering too and she's trembling against him with cold dampened skin that's hot to the touch.

 

She can't let go even if she desperately wants to.

 

She wants to but she's afraid he'll leave her again.

 

_He came back._

 

He's ashamed. Definitely not his proudest moments. What he had done to her, his actions were so unacceptable.

 

He shouldn't have left.

 

He shouldn't have done a lot of things tonight.

 

"Addie," he whispers over the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat and presses a comforting hand to her cheek. "I'm so sorry."

 

_... for everything._

 

She knows what he means. _Everything that had happened to her_. But nothing has happened _to_ her.

 

_Why doesn't he see that?_

 

_Why is he being so nice to her?_

 

If she doesn't say it, then it's not true.

 

_Right?_

 

It's only logic.

 

_Right?_

 

She leans into his palm, and doesn't close her eyes this time. It's such a strange feeling to be both averse to touch and craving it.

 

"Addison," he starts again, his thumb rubbing against her cheekbone. "I shouldn't have - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ran out like that, or left you alone, or-"

 

Shaking her head, "No, it's okay." she braces herself. "I understand."

 

He doesn't want her anymore.

 

_Well, that has been a constant for quite some time now. Way before the whole Mark thing actually. That's nothing new._

 

She gets it, though. She wouldn't want her too if she were in his shoes.

 

If he wants to leave her ... _okay_ \- she'll manage. She thinks she can. She'll just pretend the last eleven years never even happened. She thinks she can move on with her life like that.

 

It's easy.

 

_Right?_

 

She'll tell herself anything just to convince herself.

 

_Just like before._

 

But it is getting over Derek Christopher Shepherd, her husband, the man she's been with for over a decade - _oh, no, that's just not possible._ She might as well be dead if she ever does.

 

She tries to smile at him - he thinks it's a smile because he's watching as the corners of her lips try to curl upwards but it's just that her facial muscles aren't cooperating with her. Her face contorts into somewhat of a cry and a smile, but not so much as well. She looks so small, so uncomfortable and skittish that it's agonising to watch.

 

A pang of guilt fills his heart and he just can't look at her anymore. She's breaking into piece right before his eyes and he can't watch. He don't know if he can fix her or put her back together again.

 

_... like before._

 

He did this to her.

 

_Was it really necessary to break her heart tonight? ... Now, look what you've done._

 

Her eyes are shining bright with shed and unshed tears and he's afraid he might be hurting her again, and so he untangled the stiff and freezing hands that's resting on his chest, held her wrists out and took a step back.

 

She winces.

 

Her arms drops to her sides, limply unforgiving, when he let go.

 

He doesn't want to see what he's done.

 

He feels his eyes well with tears again as he glanced very briefly at her. Just a fraction of a second. She's watching him, she looks so horrified.

 

He can't look at her. He won't look at her. He doesn't want to touch her. He's disgusted of her. She looks at him, then at her own body, then back at him again.

 

He turns his head away and palms his hands over his eyes to will the tears away.

 

_Oh, god ..._

 

He hates her. He's looking at her the same way he did _that night_.

 

_Is he nauseous?_

 

She presses a hand to her stomach because it's suddenly churning so painfully.

 

The attrition of her sore skin is for all the times he has had let her down, for all the stupid that he's said to her, for every mishap that he's made in the last few years of their marriage and more.

 

She starts to shake harder.

 

"You're freezing, Addie."

 

He turns his head to scan the bathroom for her fluffy white bathrobe that's suppose to be hanging on the towel rack. But it's not there.

 

It's like he's looking at his bathroom for the first time. Everything looks so absolutely wrong and out of place.

 

This wasn't suppose to happen.

 

Addison shouldn't have gotten hurt.

 

She shouldn't be crying right now.

 

Everything is so confusing.

 

_What even happened?_

 

He still doesn't understand.

 

This is just a dream.

 

_Right?_

 

This isn't how they should spend their Christmas.

 

It's Christmas.

 

_They love Christmas..._

 

But it's Addison's cry that stops him in his tracks before he could even make a move to look for her robe. "Where are you going, Derek! Don't go!"

 

There's sheer panic in her voice.

 

He jumps at the shriek and rushes quickly back to her, grabbing hold of her arms as he does because she's shaking like a leaf and he's worried that she might slip and further hurt herself.

 

"No, Addie. No. You're cold. Let's get you dressed, okay?"

 

Her eyes are so wide, blue, hollow and she struggles to _grab_ _onto_ him.

 

She's crying again. Trembling violently, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

He's going to leave. They always leave.

 

Reaching out with both hands, he tries to grab her face in his palms, but she pulls and pulls . "Addison, shh, shh, it's okay ..." he begs and for a second they're practically fighting each other. "It's okay. Shh, shh ..." he says soothingly, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

 

She can still feel his hands all over her, his harsh breath is ringing vulgar in her ears again.

 

_You like being fucked like this, don't you?_

 

She doesn't understand what's happening to her. She's hearing him, echoing everywhere in this tin can.

 

_Where's Derek! Where is Derek!_

 

She's not in control of her anything, not a single thing. Not even her emotions.

 

"I'm here, Addie! It's me!"

 

It was just sex. _Sex!_ She's had sex before, so why is she so whinny and hysterically crying wolf?

 

She didn't like any of it. She didn't like that he didn't hear her at all. She didn't like the words he was hissing in her ears. She didn't like the hands that was so rough. She didn't like the intensity and pace. She didn't like him. She didn't like anything that he did to her.

 

"No! I don't!" she thrashes in his arms and yanks herself free out of his grasp, backing up so fast - _one, two, three, four_ \- that she hit her heel on the hamper, she curses, then, she's stumbling, landing painfully on the wet tiles, gasping for air, tears flooding her vision.

 

It's then as he hopelessly watched her run that he realised she wasn't grabbing onto him but grabbing out of his hold.

 

She's still afraid of him.

 

He's tired.

 

They've taken five steps further.

 

He feels defeated.

 

_He_ took Addison away for his perverted gratification.

 

She can't breathe. She feels his hands tight around her neck - choking her, smothering her with his hands and she's grabbing it. She straightens and tries to push the knees, that's crushing into her back, away.

 

The entire universe is closing in on her, assaulting her, and she can't fight it off.

 

_What's happening?_

 

It's like she's lost all control of her body, of her brain.

She's certain, one hundred percent, and is totally convinced that she is about to die.

She curls up into a ball. Her head hurts. Her back hurts. Everything hurts. She's wheezing, choking - she's losing her mind.

 

Desperate, terrified, she bites into her arm, clenching her jaw tight until her teeth breaks the skin and she tastes copper.

 

"Addie," he chokes on a sob, wiping tears with the back of his hands. He has no idea if she could even hear him over her wails. "I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

 

Her breaths comes out in shallow pants and he crouches next to her. Reminding himself that he can't touch her this time.

 

" _He's here_."

 

She wants to stop him.

 

_Stop! Stop! Stop! Nooooooooo!_

 

He's not stopping.

 

She was screaming. She remembered so clearly that she was screaming so loud because she had initially thought he couldn't hear her.

 

_So, why didn't he stop?_

 

_Why didn't he?_

 

_Why couldn't he have let her go?_

 

Derek feels panic rising in his chest. _No, it's anger._ He has no idea what to do. She thinks _he's_ here. Nothing he's doing is making Addison feel safe or even remotely better.

 

Carefully he tangles her fingers with his, "Addie, look at me." he tenderly says. Tears pooled in his eyes and he blinks, feeling them trickle down his cheeks.

 

"Addie, there's no one else is here. It's just you and me."

 

She shakes her head.

 

"No ..." It's a whimper.

 

Slowly, he started to rock her, back and forth, back and forth. "Believe me, honey. I promise. _He's_ not here. No one is going to hurt you." he whispers over and over again. "I promise you, Addie."

 

"He is." she finally manages to splutter out words through her sobs. "I can still feel him ..."

 

"I can still feel him, Derek. And I don't know what to do."

Her eyes are a haunted blue when she looks up. She doesn't look at him and he doesn't make her. She've said the thing he had dreaded the most and swallows.

He knows what she means. He've tended to victims like her before.

 

His hand settles on her shoulder, and it scares her and makes her feel better all at the same time. Very very slowly, he pulls her into his arms.

 

She melts down against his chest.

 

He can feel her hot tears soaking into his shirt, and her whole body is racking with sobs uncontrollably - hers matches his too.

 

He also doesn't know what to do.


End file.
